Playing in God’s Love

Matthew 18:1-3
May 17, 2026
Matt Goodale

The disciples ask Jesus a fascinating question: “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?”
Or put another way: “Jesus, who’s winning?”

I try to imagine how the conversation led up to this question. The disciples have been traveling together for years now, and there’s probably not much to do while walking from town to town except talk.

Maybe it started because James was bragging about how he healed seven people in the last village. And then maybe Thomas jumped in with, “Oh yeah? Well I’m pretty sure I gave Jesus the idea for turning water into wine.”

And then maybe Judas pipes in with, “Well try keeping track of Jesus’ bank account. You have no idea how much work that is.”

And then probably Peter, always Peter, has to get in the last word, “Guys. Guys. But I walked on water.”

And maybe what started as playful banter slowly became something more serious. Because underneath all the joking is a deeper question:

“Where do I stand with God?”
“Am I doing enough?”
“Am I important enough?”

And when we read this story, we might shake our heads or roll our eyes at the disciples. Like, come on guys, you’ve been following Jesus around for years now and you still haven’t figured out that that’s a dumb question to ask??

But honestly, I don’t think we’ve stopped asking those questions either.

We may not care about being the best or the most important, but we certainly do care about having our importance affirmed; we do care about what others think of us, we care about how they measure our intelligence, our looks, our put-togetherness. Life, in many ways can become for us one big performance, to prove that we are worthy of attention, of respect, of love—things that many of us never received as kids and so we spend our whole life chasing. Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber calls this “the human worthiness competition.”

From a young age we’re taught that our value comes from how well we perform.

In school, we perform for grades.
At work, we perform for promotions and paychecks.
On social media, we perform curated versions of ourselves for likes and approval.

And even as a parent, I feel this, wanting to compare my kid’s development to the development of other kids their age, believing that somehow that has some reflection on how good of a parent I am or not.

Even our faith can become a performance.

We keep mental checklists:
“Went to church? Check. Prayed this week? Mostly. Read my Bible enough? Probably not.”

And before we know it, faith can become another performance.
Another way of trying to prove:
“Look God, look everyone—I’m worthy.”

And if I’m honest, I think that’s what’s underneath the disciples’ question too.

Not pride.
But insecurity.

“Jesus…am I enough?”

And I don’t know about you, but all of this performing that I do on a daily basis that I don’t even realize I’m doing, all of this wondering how I measure up to other people, wondering what people think about how smart or good or put together I am, wondering what God thinks about my spiritual efforts this week….it is all SO exhausting.

I think we all struggle with the same insecurities that are surely behind the disciples’ question: “who is the most important?”

And I love this story because Jesus hears the disciples’ question. And I think he really hears it and what is behind it.

And instead of giving them a ranking system, he calls over a child and says:
“Unless you become like this child, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

Which must have completely puzzled the disciples.

Because children in the ancient world had no status. I’ve preached on this before because it’s so important to understanding the good news Jesus came to share. Kids in the ancient world as in today’s world have no accomplishments. No power.

This child in front of the disciples hadn’t earned anything; they don’t possess one ounce of power to do anything “important”.

And that, I think, is exactly Jesus’ point.

This child does not have to perform for love.

And neither do you.

Jesus is setting the record straight for his disciples. He’s telling them: just stop trying so dang hard. Stop performing. Stop making other people perform for you. Stop trying to be the best or to be perfect or to be so put together. That’s not how God’s love works. That’s not what God’s kingdom is all about.

Look and learn from this child, because they understand what you do not about God’s kingdom.

Elsewhere in the gospels Jesus thanks God that God has chosen to hide the mysteries of his kingdom from the wise and the educated and the successful, and has instead revealed them to little children. And it’s Jesus who says, “Let the little children come to me.” Maybe it’s no accident that God decided to first appear as a baby in a manger, rather than a fully grown adult.

One thing I’ve noticed about both of my daughters is that neither of them are very good at performing for my affection.

Because if they were, they’d probably sleep through the night more often. If they were trying to perform for my love they’d stop throwing their food at the table or they’d try better to clean up after themselves.

Neither of them contribute much to the household. They create far more chores than they solve. They don’t do anything particularly impressive or productive.

And yet, Meghan and I could not possibly love them more than we already do. I’ve reflected as a parent that it’s kind of incredible how there is literally nothing they could do to make us love them more. And nothing they could do to make us love them less.

And if that’s true of the love of a parent for their child—or at least that’s the way it should be, how much more true is that of God’s love for us.

Kids are not old enough yet to have learned about the human worthiness competition that we adults must all compete in to prove ourselves. As Jesus points out, they are still wonderfully naïve to all of that.

And instead of performing, kids play.

Play is something we forget how to do as we grow up. Because we’re adults now and we have to be so serious and we have all of this responsibility like careers and taxes and mortgages and important things to do and we need to make sure we use our time efficiently and productively, and play is not very productive.

Especially as Christians, I find that sometimes we take ourselves and God and church too seriously. I know you’re probably not supposed to hear a pastor say that. But I wonder if sometimes we take God a little too seriously, because we’re afraid to offend or disappoint a being who we describe in our hymns as omnipotent, omniscient, immutable and a bunch of other big scary words.

And I wonder if we forget this story, where Jesus encourages us to become like little children, to effectively unlearn all of the ways we try to perform as adults.

And I wonder if we don’t often enough hear God described as playful.

I mean, this is the same God who turned water into wine to keep the party going, and who was a kid once who probably loved running and playing with his friends. This is the same God who in the Psalms created seas monsters to play with, and who makes the sun come up in the same way each morning so that he can squeal like a toddler, “again, again, do it again!”. God is playful.

Friends, the good news Jesus came to reveal is that you do not have to perform for God’s love anymore.

You don’t have to win.
You don’t have to prove yourself.
You don’t have to exhaust yourself trying to be worthy enough.

Because before you ever accomplished anything…
before you were productive…
before you were impressive…

you were already loved.

That’s what baptism means.

God looks at you and says:
“You are my beloved child and I delight in you.”

Full stop. No ifs ands or buts.

I’ll close with one of my favorite scenes from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

Aslan—the great lion, the Christ-figure in the story—has just returned from the dead.

But the battle is not over yet. The land is still at war. People are still suffering. Everything is still uncertain.

And at this incredibly serious moment, Aslan does something surprising.

He plays.

He turns to the children and cries out:
“Come on! Catch me if you can!”

And off he runs, leaping and bounding through the hills while the children chase after him laughing until they all collapse together in what Lewis describes as “a happy laughing heap.”

I love that scene so much because it reminds me that joy is not a distraction from the good news. It’s part of the good news.

The kingdom of God is not a human worthiness competition.

It is an invitation to live as beloved children who are learning to delight in their Father’s love.

Because you were never made to perform for God’s love.

You were made to play in it.

Amen and may it be so.